


Felsenfest

by belikebumblebee



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belikebumblebee/pseuds/belikebumblebee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carmilla creeps back in in the middle of the dark blue night, bringing a silver lining (and an apology). Laura just needs sleep, but she'll take it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Felsenfest

**Author's Note:**

> The fact that Laura swears in this is just a little nod to Elise, because apparently she was told off for swearing during filming? (At least that's what it sounded like at the beginning of her ginterview with Kaitlyn.)  
> 'Felsenfest' is German and, translated in the literal sense of the word, means 'as firm as stone', but in this case, more like 'relentlessly', 'adamantly'.

You dream of fire and rust and wild animals, of the giant cat underneath your desk again - it jumps onto the bed you lie in and with the feeling of something soft and heavy against your feet, you wake up gasping. Your blood drops and you almost scream.   
You’re lying on your side and there is a face directly in front of yours; big eyes, pale skin, watching you sleep. With your heart hammering against your ribs, you roll onto your back.  
  
“What the _fuck_ do you want, Carmilla.”, you hiss at her.   
  
“You’re in my bed.”  
  
That you are. Perry fell asleep in your own, her hands still in LaF’s hair - and LaF, well. They are drifting in and out of consciousness with a feverish glow, murmuring about dancing every once in a while.   
You searched and searched (and waited) and hoped you’d find _something_ , and after almost forty hours on your feet, you needed sleep.  
  
“Figured you wouldn’t need it halfway on your way to New Zealand or wherever ”, you tell her and pull yourself up in a sitting position, leaning your head against the wall. Carmilla brings up her hands, it looks like she wants to reach for your feet for a moment, and then she smoothes the sheets instead. It gets cold at night.  
  
“You’re a fool”, she whispers, without looking at you or any passion behind it at all.   
  
“Just fuck off, all right?” You don’t have time for this, you need to sleep. You need all the strength you can get. You pull up your knees to your chest, running your hands through your hair.  
  
“No.” Carmilla’s fingers entwine and her knuckles crack, just like yours would, just like human hands. She watches them move as if they’re not her own. Her voice is quiet and cracked at the rims, battered and almost as tired as you. “I mean, you are. But apparently, so am I. I lied to you and I shouldn’t have, but look, buttercup - who would fight for the missing girls if I had given you up?”  
  
“Don’t”, you spit out bitterly, “don’t pretend like you care about them, I won’t fall for it again.”  
  
“You’re right. I’m here for _you_ , and you’re a fool if you think I went to the damn library again for any other reason.”  
  
Your head whips up. (You ignore the way your breathing hitches in your chest.)   
“You’ve been in the library all this time? By yourself?!”  
  
Carmilla rolls her eyes, but the hairs on her arms are rising. “No, I asked my dear brother if he’d come along to protect me... Yes, of course by myself. I’m a bit stronger than you and your friends, remember? Anyway, my mother wasn’t lying, the sword will consume anyone who wields it.”  
  
She gives you a look when you open your mouth, and you close it again.   
  
“However, somebody had to take it to its watery grave, and from what I have found out so far, that worked because this didn’t count as _wielding_ as such. Which, in turn, means that we could retrieve it, we just can’t use it.”  
  
You’re too sleepy to guess your way through. “Then what am I supposed to do with it?” (You don’t say ‘we’. She still sold out Kirsch.)  
  
“That’s why I brought back this.”  
  
Something inside you surges and rises and rumbles when she says this and finally looks up at you. Still kneeling in front of the bed, she retrieves something from the floor and carefully places it on the duvet in front of you. She lowers her chin onto her folded hands and watches you (like the cat from your dreams, like she brought you a present).  
  
It’s a book, bound in something that feels like actual, live skin when you touch it. It’s just a book, and yet it is more hope than you’ve had since the video.   
  
“I don’t know if this has the answer, but if there _is_ one...” Carmilla trails off.   
“Laura, I am selfish. And that’s just how it is, so I’ll choose you over the Dude every time. But I’m not going to lie about it anymore.”  
  
She looks at you and you look back and you’re tired of fighting.   
You’re shivering, you’re so exhausted, and you don’t want to pretend not to want her anymore, because you do, you want her on your team. You want her with you.  
With a sigh, you pat the bed next to you. You expect her to make a snide remark about being called to your side like a dog, but to your surprise, Carmilla just climbs onto the mattress.   
  
Her skin is warm (like yours is, like human skin), and sinking against her feels like finally letting go of a just a bit of tension. You wish you could hand her all your responsibilities for a moment, just ask her to hold onto them for you, so you could rest for just a moment.   
  
You’re too exhausted to know how long you sit there in silence, maybe you even fall asleep for a while, somewhere between your head sagging onto her shoulder and her fingers lacing through your hair. It’s a weird zone you’re in, with your eyes closed and your body so heavy. So heavy you don’t know which of your hands is your right and which your left, so heavy you’re not sure if you’re even still sitting, or how much time has passed. Forms and colors blooming and passing behind your lids. You can barely make your tongue work, but you try.  
  
“Carmilla. What your mother said?”, you murmur, semi-somnolent.   
  
Her voice is even. “She said a lot of things.”  
  
You’re almost gone now. So hard to make yourself understood.  
  
“D’you really. Care for me?”  
  
“Felsenfest”, Carmilla whispers, and her voice, passing through the space between you and her, the air and the night, sounds like stars and waltzing and the smallest bit like tears. “Very much.”  
  
You mean to answer this, but all you can do is take her hand, and then you’re out.


End file.
